


At Least Morale Was High

by shihadchick



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-18
Updated: 2010-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of terrible puns and boys being adorable, in honour of both Talk Like a Pirate Day and National Nude Day (which, conveniently, fall upon the same day. Who knew.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Least Morale Was High

**Author's Note:**

> I still blame [](http://shoemaster.livejournal.com/profile)[**shoemaster**](http://shoemaster.livejournal.com/) ENTIRELY for the fact I caught myself singing that version of the line at no less than three shows. ♥ 

* * *

Brendon walks past Spencer's bunk proclaiming "Yo ho ho!" at the top of healthy and professionally trained lungs, and Ryan kind of falls out through the curtain, all indignant and flushed, mouth red and boxers slipping down narrow hips.

He glares at Brendon and says faux-mournfully, "Are you calling someone a slut?" and Brendon half kills himself laughing before saying, "No, but if the drummer fits, I think you should wear-" and then pelts off towards the kitchen and Zack and safety before the wild Spencer can _also_ emerge and take his vengeance.

* * *

Brendon bounces through the doorway into the front lounge, where Jon's communing with his laptop, and flops cheerfully onto the couch beside him. Well. Sort of beside him. Kind of more on his lap, really, but whatever.

"Hey, Brendon," Jon says easily, shoving him to accomodate his limbs a little less indiscriminately, "what's with the eyepatch?"

"Arrr, matey, it be the revelry of International Talk like a Pirate Day," Brendon replies, giving Jon his toothiest grin. Jon has to squint just to check he hasn't also managed an appropriately gold tooth as well.

"Right," Jon says, and pats Brendon's shoulder approvingly, "and how come that's all you're wearing?"

"National Nude Day," Brendon explains, shamelessly snuggling closer. It is fall, after all. It's not _that_ warm on the bus.

Jon raises an eyebrow. "I think I'd have remembered hearing about that," he says slowly, and Brendon has the grace to look a little abashed.

"In New Zealand," he admits, and then smiles sunnily at Jon. "So, you gonna join me, Jon Walker?" He nudges his toe against Jon's anklebone.

"Naw," Jon says, petting Brendon a little more suggestively, "but I'm happy to sit here and admire your booty."

* * *

Spencer is woken up - for the third time - by banging noises on the door of the bus. He doesn't think Zack's crazed-fangirl radar can malfunction enough that any of them could've got this close, so probably it's one of the techs forgetting the door code. Again. With a growl, he rolls out of his bunk - a lot more gracefully than Ryan had, and he snickers a little - and pads over to the door.

"Seriously, what part of "next time it's five bucks-"," Spencer starts to say, and then sees not Adrian or Joe but Zack and Brendon, wearing the innocent expressions that anyone with half a brain learns to distrust less than a week into any tour.

"What?" he asks, deeply suspicious. Brendon's mouth twitches.

Spencer gives him a squinty-eyed look and then remembers the weird banging noise. He still has one hand wrapped around the top of the door, and he leans around it, balancing on the top step to see the hand-lettered sign that Zack has clearly just duct-taped onto the door.

"'Beware all ye who enter'," he reads, and stares at the two of them. "Where do you think anyone is going to get pieces of eight from at this time of the morning? Or, you know, in the middle of _nowhere_."

Brendon shrugs. "We'll take booze," he says matter-of-factly. "Or... alternate offerings."

"Highway robbery," Spencer says fervently, and leans back into the bus. There's no way Brendon's getting his stash.

"Piracy, actually," Brendon says brightly, and Spencer rolls his eyes and looks at Zack and says, "Seriously, you're letting him run with this?"

"Right you arrrrr," says Zack.

Zack is a bad man, Spencer reminds himself, and does not snicker even a little bit.

* * *

Jon finds Ryan and Brendon almost chin-deep in forfeited pudding cups a few hours later. The crew had taken less than an hour to get whole-heartedly into the spirit of things, there'd been at least five separate mock-duels over the rights to various items on the catering tables, and once it become clear just how easy it was to buy Brendon off, everyone who needed to change or grab gear from the bus had just paid up in dessert. Jon was figuring either someone would have to put him to bed after he went down face-first in a sugar coma, or that someone was going to start throwing the things, and frankly he wasn't sure which option was going to be messier. Maybe the second. _Maybe_.

"Hey, guys," he says, and reaches over Brendon's protectively grasping arms (he's a skinny little dude, he totally can't hold Jon off for long) to snitch a chocolate pudding cup. Because, hey, chocolate. Of course, Brendon and Ryan being Brendon and Ryan, neither of them had held out for actual utensils, and the kitchen drawer was all the way down the corridor. Jon shrugged mentally, peeled the foil lid back and tilted the plastic cup to let gravity do the work for him.

"That was mine," Brendon says, pouting, and Jon tries not to find it charming.

"I told you that you needed booby-traps," Ryan adds, and smacks Jon's hand away from the vanilla pudding cup by his elbow. "See?"

"I thought you supported non-violence," Jon gives him his best wounded expression and Ryan just snorts. It's maybe a little unfortunate that they know each other as well as they do now.

"A man's pudding cup is sacred, Jon," Ryan says loftily, and then goes back to singing sea chanteys with Brendon.

It's kind of stupidly cute.

* * *

Spencer finds the three of them not long after that, following the noise to the couch and the contained mayhem surrounding it. Jon and Brendon are singing at the top of their lungs while Ryan conducts (with a plastic spork, Spencer does not want to _know_), and after a moment of shocked incredulity, he realises that it's _Behind the Sea_. Kind of.

He wraps his arms around Ryan from behind and nuzzles at his neck. He smells nice. Kind of... chocolate-y. Ryan's conducting is a little impaired, what with Spencer getting in the way of the more flamboyant gestures and all, but it hadn't exactly been terribly accurate to start with, and, "Waves of _pudding legs_?" Spencer asks disbelievingly.

Brendon beams and keeps singing, listing more heavily into Jon's side.

"Seriously," Spencer says, even though he knows no one is listening, but it has to be said, for the good of, well, his sanity. "There has got to be a way to keep Brendon off the internet."

* * *   
_fin_


End file.
